The moment Hela dozes off in Frigga's arms — curled up like a kitten beneath her silken shawl — I quietly step forward.
"Mother," I say, lowering my voice. "Can we talk?"
Frigga nods without moving, gently shifting Hela's head onto a nearby pillow of cloudsilk. She kisses her temple, then stands and walks with me a few paces away, just beyond the tree's shade.
We walk in silence for a few breaths.
"I wish to undergo the Ritual of the Warrior."
Frigga stops mid-step.
"…You wish to carve a rune into your own flesh?" she asks, voice soft but taut.
I nod.
She turns to face me fully. "Sævor… why, my son? That ritual brings pain few can bear. It leaves more scars than just the ones on the skin."
"It's not for pride, nor glory," I say. "I need it, mother. Something happened today in the Sanctuary." I then recounted the incident to Frigga.
When I finish, she is still. Her hands fold before her.
"You believe someone seeks to harm you," she says.
"I do. And I cannot afford to be unprepared."
She draws a quiet breath, eyes falling to the grass. "Then we must speak with your father."
"I will. But first, I needed your blessing."
"How about learning Vanir magic from me?"
"I planned to, but it takes some time to master it. Rune engraving on the other hand, provides instant power."
She looks at me — truly looks — and I see the worry behind her steady eyes.
"Sævor… do you understand what you're asking? The ritual is not just pain — it's a trial. The rune might not accept you. And even if it does, your body may reject it. You are half Vanir — our magic flows differently. What if the rune burns you from within?"
I take her hands in mine.
"I'll take the aptitude test. If I'm not compatible, we won't proceed. I promise."
Her fingers curl slightly around mine, holding tighter.
"I'm just worried, my son." Frigga embraced her son's small body. "If the rune fails… if it consumes you… I could lose my son."
"Then promise me this — if it's not meant to be, do not force it. Tell me everything before you do something."
"I promise, Mother."
"You're just 5 years old, what kind of madness is this life for you?"
"My heart fears this path," she says, "but I will not turn away from you."
.
.
.
Later that evening, I stood before Father.
He sat atop the stone dais in the inner hall, a place both modest and grand, where private counsel was held beyond the gaze of the court. The candlelight flickered along the golden ridges of Gungnir resting beside him, casting long shadows across the polished floor.
"You've spoken with your mother," he said.
I nodded. "Yes. I've told her everything."
"And now you come to me, seeking approval for the Ritual of the Warrior," Odin said, eyes steady.
"Yes, Father."
He studied me in silence, one hand resting upon his throne's arm. Then, after a long pause, he gave a single nod.
"I approve."